


Demands of the Wolf

by hoomhum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Trick or Treating, Werewolves, companion piece to my other werewolf!Mycroft fic, costume ideas, cute domestic werewolves, mostly chatting, werewolves are genetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 17:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21212126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoomhum/pseuds/hoomhum
Summary: Greg loves Mycroft, both when he has two legs and when he has four. He didn't mean to double-book Halloween. How can he keep his promise to go trick or treating with his niece and keep the wolf company for the night?





	Demands of the Wolf

The end of October found them curled in bed together, warming each other with hot chocolate flavoured kisses and cuddling between layers of thick pajamas. Greg couldn't resist a fond smile as Mycroft's rain dampened hair was beginning to curl a bit, the product he generally used unable to stand up to the rain they had been caught in on their way back from brunch. Catching his gaze, Mycroft's lips quirked self consciously and he made to flatten his hair down, but Greg caught his hand and instead rerouted it to his own lips, pressing a gentle kiss there.

There was little more satisfying than the easy intimacy and comfort of their weekend routine; whatever morning they could spend together, depending on work, they would share in Mycroft's home tucked away from the world for a bit. They found time for each other during the week, of course, stealing quick lunches together and take-aways, but weekend mornings and the late nights that preceded them were the most luxurious.

"I'll miss you next week," Mycroft said softly, shifting down the bed to curl up against Greg's chest. Greg was so delightedly distracted with the deep red waves right beneath his nose that it took him a moment to process what his lover had said. 

"Huh?" Of the two of them, he wasn't the one who often jetted off around the globe; he was sure there wasn't anything like that on his own calendar, but equally certain that Mycroft hadn't mentioned any upcoming trips either. 

"You've been so terribly kind to me," his lover went on, voice still quiet. "Indulging me on the nights of my transformations. I know I'm not… particularly good company in that form." 

There were moments in his relationship with Mycroft that Greg was grateful he had become a detective. It sometimes took all of his critical thinking and investigative skills to get to the bottom of what the other man was saying. Most of the time this occurred when Mycroft was still wearing the mask required for his work. It was an entire persona that revealed very little of the true nature of the man he loved. Sometimes, though, Mycroft baffled him in moments like this.

"You're not so hard to indulge," he said, stroking over Mycroft's shoulder and resisting the urge to pull him in for another kiss. "You mostly want a meal and a cuddle as a wolf. It's really not so different. Bit more hair involved." There was a bit of cajoling in his tone, asking without words what had Mycroft sounding so grim.

"You spoil me and I am grateful for it," Mycroft replied with a small huff. "But you mustn't feel guilty about next week. I can take care of myself. I did, before you came along."

Greg's expression soured, remembering just exactly how "taken care of" Mycroft had been. Half starved, completely lacking in stimulation. It was no wonder the transformations had been hell. But that wasn't the point.

"Next week?"  
"All Hallow's Eve. I assumed you didn't wish to bring it up with me personally. Anthea informed me of your plans to take your niece trick or treating."

"That's Friday," Greg said, shaking his head and subsiding. He'd thought for a minute… "The full moon isn't until—"

"Friday."

"No." Greg's free hand flew to his forehead. "No, no— I didn't! Really?"

Mycroft sat up, drawing away slightly to watch him. "I… thought you knew. You so rarely see her."

"Not that rarely," Greg protested. "Not rarely enough that I'd knowingly abandon you the one night of the month you need me the most."

For a long moment Mycroft stared at him, hardly breathing, Colour rushed to his cheeks, darkening what could be seen of his face, neck and ears. He twined their fingers together upon the bedspread.

"I'm very lucky to have you."

"That's bollocks," Greg tugged him forward, kissing him soundly. "If anyone's lucky, it's me. Lucky such a genius puts up with me."

The kiss went on a bit longer than Greg originally intended, but he wasn't going to complain. He loved Mycroft down to his core and would pull out the stops to reassure him whenever necessary. He felt Mycroft putting all of his love into the kiss in return and was happy to melt back against the pillows with his arms full of the affectionate man. 

"Now what do we do about Friday?" he asked once they had slowed, kissing turned to nuzzling and back to cuddling once more. 

"Do?" Mycroft repeated, brows furrowed. "You needn't do anything." 

"You know I won't stand for that. I'd cancel, but Anna's already made plans. So I need to take Olivia trick or treating, entertain her til 10, and you need to… shift."

"I'll be—"

"If you end that sentence with 'fine', I'm kicking you out of bed," Greg said, only half threatening. He kissed Mycroft's shoulder when his partner pointedly closed his mouth. "Why don't you come with us as the wolf? You like to stretch your legs sometimes. Put a leash on you, say you're just a wolf/dog— mix, something."

Mycroft didn't respond immediately, didn't protest, so Greg went on.

"We could even dress you up. Like… a lion, maybe. Just a big furry mane. Or a hotdog costume. Olivia would love that. A dog dressed like a hotdog." 

"I'm not a dog."

There was a tension in Mycroft's body that hadn't been there before. Earlier he had been relaxed, lounging against Greg, but now he was stiff, and his words came out just as stiffly.

"I… I know, love. But I couldn't take you out saying you were a wolf." Greg tried to catch his lover's gaze, but Mycroft was looking down, avoiding him.

"You can't take me out at all," he said. "I'm very dangerous, Gregory. You've forgotten. I am a wolf."

Greg frowned, trying once again to parse what Mycroft was saying and what it was he meant. He might shift to four legs and teeth the size of Greg's forearm once a month, but he wasn't violent. He wasn't dangerous. Hell, Sherlock shifted as well and he went out and about more often than he probably ought to. There were rumors of a great black dog that roamed London's streets at night, chasing killers. 

"You've never hurt me," said Greg, using one hand to soothe up and down the still stiff posture of Mycroft's back. "Or Anthea. Sherlock, or John. Any of the people I've seen you interact with as a wolf."

"I don't trust…" he trailed off, going quiet before Greg could guess if that sentence was going to end with 'very easily' or 'myself'. Either potential was disheartening. "You do not possess complete knowledge of my behaviors in that form."

That gave Greg pause, but only for a moment. 

"I don't possess complete knowledge of everything you've ever done as a person, either," he pointed out. "But I still know you. I know you're powerful. I know you're the most intelligent man I've ever met. You're funny and kind, in your own way. A protective, trustworthy partner. I trust you, and I trust the wolf."

"I'm dangerous," Mycroft protested again, but it was half-hearted this time, like he was pleading to be proven wrong. "I could lose control."

"You have more control as the wolf than I do against an open bag of crisps." 

That earned him a half smile. "I'm not going as a hotdog."

Greg leaned forward and kissed his temple.

"But you'll come? You don't have to if you don't want to. If you'd rather stay home— not because of this 'it's too dangerous' nonsense, but because you don't want to, I'd understand."

"For you, I'll come." Mycroft curled against his chest again, relaxing once more. "Do promise me, however, that I won't be the star of any humiliating photographs?"

Greg didn't know what had happened in the past to make him worry about being a danger so much, but this at least he could put a stop to. He had an inkling that growing up with never-had-a-brain-to-mouth-filter Sherlock Holmes for a brother, Mycroft's self esteem had taken some permanent hits. The veneer he wore at work never cracked, but the fragile underbelly that he showed to Greg revealed, in times like this, just how insecure the man could be. 

"No embarrassing photos," he promised. If there were going to be pictures— and he hoped that there would be— they would be ones that Mycroft was proud of. He had a week to figure out a costume that would suit them both. It couldn't be that hard, could it? "Cross my heart."


End file.
